“I told him I was leaving at ten sharp and he’s supposed to be here to see me off. Which gives him—” Olivia glanced at her watch “—five minutes. Damn, why didn’t I think to stipulate that if he isn’t here on time, he forfeits?”
“Perhaps because you were too busy making a spectacle of yourself, throwing arrows…”
“I think you mean darts.”
“Of course, darts,” her mother conceded, oozing disapproval. “That makes it infinitely more dignified than tossing arrows at a map stuck to the wall of the Continental Ballroom.”
Olivia shrugged. “It seemed the most logical way to choose a destination under the circumstances.”
“Logical? Logical? There is not one scintilla of logic in this latest…escapade that you and your brother have cooked up.” She sighed. “I thought Bradford had more sense.”
“Well, he doesn’t.” It did not escape Olivia that her mother had not said that she thought she had more sense.
“Does that mean you are obligated to go along with whatever asinine scheme he proposes?”
“What can I say? He has a way of bringing out the worst of my inner child.”
“Please don’t joke, Olivia. Your father and I are very worried about you going off alone like this.”
“Mom, I’ve been traveling alone for years.”
“Traveling, yes. Not living and working and fending for yourself in some strange place. I cannot for the life of me understand why— Don’t say it.” She raised her palm to halt Olivia’s response. “I’m weary of hearing you say it’s the principle of the matter…whatever that means. How principle can be at stake in such a foolish, not to mention dangerous, stunt, eludes me.”
“We’re not talking about Beirut, Mom. I’m going to a town named Danby, population 14,000, for heaven’s sake. I suspect the crime rate there is lower than in Baltimore.”
“I don’t care what the population is. Every one of them is a stranger. And it’s not as if you’ll be spending a weekend. You’ll be there for months…”
“Eight weeks.”
“Alone, with no family, no job, no friends, no one who even knows who you are, for heaven’s sake.”
“That’s the point,” Olivia countered wryly, bringing a familiar, long-suffering expression to her mother’s face.
The sunlight streaming through the leaded glass windows of the foyer might have been hard on the appearance of another woman in her fifties, but not Helen Templeton Ashfield. A combination of good genes and good sense resulted in a softly glowing complexion, a still-slim and strong body and golden-brown hair, cut to flatter her classic features and draw attention to her brilliant blue eyes. The fact that the softly layered style was the look of the moment mattered not at all to her mother, who had a remarkable talent for knowing what was right for her…in hairstyles and in life.
Olivia liked to think she’d inherited those gifts. There was no question she had done all right in the looks department. Blond, blue-eyed and willowy, she was aware she could turn heads dressed in baggy sweats. Not that she would ever be caught dead in them. Her style was one she’d dubbed “casual glam,” and she wore it well. She clung to the belief that hidden somewhere inside her—deep inside—she possessed the same instinct for more significant matters. It was just taking her a while to dig it out.
She was convinced that when she at last found whatever it was she was meant to do with her life, she would know it instantly, the way her mother insisted she had known her future the very first time she’d set eyes on Richard Ashfield. She was definitely narrowing the field of possibilities. Through trial and error she had established she was not destined to work with young children or stay cooped up in an office all day or work around chemicals, especially those of a combustible nature. And she’d yet to set sight on a man and know for sure that she’d want to spend a weekend with him, much less “till death did them part.”
Her mother was still voicing her objections. Taking a deep breath, Olivia decided she would try one more time to make her understand what she was about to do. “Mom, the reason I’m going to Danby is precisely because I don’t know a soul there, to prove that I can survive completely on my own. With…how did my dear brother put it? No trust account…”
“No credit cards. No Daddy,” interrupted a masculine voice from behind her.
“Ah, the devil himself,” Olivia drawled, turning.
Brad Ashfield, like all the Ashfield men, was tall and athletic and heartbreakingly handsome. He grinned at his only sister and moved to give his mother a quick kiss on her cheek. “Good morning, Mother. Great day for a drive in the country, wouldn’t you say?”
Rubbing his hands together like the villain in a cartoon, he glanced from Olivia’s unsmiling face to the suitcase beside her and nodded approvingly. “One bag. See? You can follow orders. You’re even ready on time. Hell, Liv, if you keep this up, you just might last more than two days on a real job after all.”
“Oh, I intend to last more than two days. I intend to last the entire eight weeks. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for the pleasure of seeing you shave your head in public.”
“That would be a sight to draw a crowd, all right,” Brad agreed. Looking smug, he added, “Why, I’ll bet it would be nearly as big a crowd as we’re going to have when you shave yours.”
Her mother swung her horrified gaze to Olivia. “Oliv-ia, please tell me you are not going to—”
“I am not going to shave my head in public or anywhere else, Mother. I fully intend to win this bet. This victory will be my swan song, my final participation in anything my brothers dream up, proving once and for all that nothing my conniving, eavesdropping, interfering…”
Brad looked indignant. “I did not eavesdrop. I was simply dancing in close proximity to you and that Taylor guy when I happened to overhear you reeling him in with that old line about how you dreamed of running away from your unbearably tedious life of wealth and privilege and make your own way in the world.” He shook his head with mock dismay. “Really, Liv, I should have thought you’d retired that one years ago.”
“I believe ‘find myself’ was the phrase I used,” she informed him.
“Yes, of course. I remember thinking it was such a charmingly retro expression.”
“Did you think that right before you barged into my private conversation for the sole purpose of taunting me and backing me into a corner in public?”
“That’s not my recollection at all,” he said, stroking his chin with such phony sincerity that Olivia’s lip curled. “I only recall chatting with my sister and her partner after inadvertently bumping into them on the dance floor.”
“Inadvertently, my eye,” she muttered.
“After that I simply did my best to encourage you to follow your dream…you know, that lifelong dream of finding yourself. Hell, a lot of brothers wouldn’t even care that their kid sister was lost, never mind go to all this trouble to help her find herself. Seems to me you should be thanking
